


170. bloody valentine

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [154]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:50:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8714608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: Does she know about me? About my kids? How do you know you didn’t just bring her right to my doorstep?
  Because she’s impaled with rebar, and I wouldn’t do that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [warnings: character death, reference to animal death, good old-fashioned s1 helena incest overtones]

Alison isn’t picking up her phone.

Back up. It’s been four days since Sarah stabbed Helena in the liver. Four days since she went to Alison’s house afterwards. Four days since Alison said: _Does she know about me? About my kids? How do you know you didn’t just bring her right to my doorstep?_

 _Because she’s impaled with rebar,_ Sarah said. _And I wouldn’t do that_.

Four days.

 _The party you have reached is not currently available. Please leave a message at the—_ Sarah hangs up. Her leg jumps. Alison had said she and Donnie were leaving for a couples’ retreat to fix their marriage or whatever, but that wasn’t for a few days – she should still be home. She should be picking up her phone. Sarah would say soccer practice or napkin folding or whatever bullshit, but she’s been calling all day.

She stabbed Helena in the liver. Helena had made it to Maggie’s apartment, made it far enough to put her hand on Sarah’s knee and earnestly tell her _you’re different_ , but she must have collapsed sometime. It’s just – Alison forgot to charge her phone.

Yeah right. Like Alison Hendrix would forget to charge her phone.

The starting of the car sound inevitable – because of course she was going to go to Alison’s house. She feels like a rock falling downhill, Sisyphus undone. She drives through the streets – suburbia at three in the afternoon, the light just starting to turn golden before it goes out. Sarah keeps her head down; in Beth’s nice car, she doesn’t get a lot of attention from the briskly-walking mothers in their athletic gear or the fathers holding their children’s hands.

Alison’s house is fine from the outside. Sarah doesn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t—

The door’s open. Just a crack, but it’s open. “Alison?” Sarah calls, but there’s no sound. She pauses, shuts her eyes tight, tries: “Helena?” Nothing there either. Thank god.

She walks deeper into the house, regretting not bringing her pistol. She hates that she’s starting to feel safer with a gun in her hand, but she is. Cold metal. If she needs to, she tells herself, she could put Helena down. She could do it. Just one pull of the trigger, and then she wouldn’t have to worry about shit like this.

Alison is in the dining room.

Which is to say: Sarah walks into the dining room, turns around, leans her back against the wall outside, and lets herself slump bonelessly to the ground. “Oh god,” she breathes, a sort of gibbering she can’t stop. “Oh god oh god oh god oh _god_ oh god” and she’d promised. She’d said. _I wouldn’t do that_. What the hell is going to happen to Alison’s kids, and where are Alison’s kids, and she knows where Alison is: Alison is right there.

Sarah closes her eyes tight again and manages to stand up and go back to the dining room. Alison’s arm is stretched across the dining table, like she’s reaching for something. There’s a fortune teller in her hand.

* * *

Helena waits all day for the stranger to call her. She waits all day. She’s supposed to be heading back to the ship and to Tomas, but Helena and Tomas both remember when it would take Helena an entire day to work up the nerve to kill a sheep. So she has time. Right now she’s sitting in one of her little hiding places she has tucked away around the city, eating her way through a box of granola bars she’d taken from the copy’s garage. What if she’d made the fortune teller puzzle too hard – it’s been _all day_ , and her phone hasn’t buzzed. Not even one time. What if someone else found the body, and another cop took the fortune teller and put it in a plastic bag like they couldn’t _tell_ that it was for _Helena’s_ cop, hers hers hers her—

phone buzzes. Helena blinks at it and then swallows a mouthful of granola bar, coughs, fumbles for the phone, and picks it up.

“Hello,” she says. Her voice is calm. Her heart is racing, throwing itself against her ribcage; it can tell who’s on the other side of the phone.

“I’m going to kill you,” says Helena’s favorite person. _Her_ voice isn’t very calm at all.

“You found my present,” Helena breathes. “I was going to wrap it for you. There was a whole room full of ribbons. Did you see it?”

“Helena,” says the woman on the other end of the phone, “do you hear me? I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kill you.”

Helena wriggles a little bit, excitedly. She can’t help herself. “You know where to find me, yes?”

“Do I?”

Helena tilts her head to the side, even though she’s on the phone and thus can’t be seen. “You can’t feel it?”

“We don’t – have – a connection.” The voice is strained, now, throbbing with anger, completely and totally beautiful. _They made me shoot a dog_ , Helena wants to tell her. _And I hated it. But look at me now. I’m so strong_. She likes to think that Helena’s double would understand: what Helena is doing for her. What Helena is doing to her.

“We do,” she says seriously. “Only you and me.” She opens another granola bar, says offhandedly: “That’s why you couldn’t feel it when your other copy died. Like making hamburgers. No need to weep for cows.” She shoves the entire granola bar in her mouth, manages to chew and swallow in the resulting silence.

“God.” The word is a sigh, not very holy at all – Helena’s almost disappointed, but can’t quite find it in her to feel something that sad for someone this wonderful. She eats the feeling instead. Her stomach is starting to ache from the granola bars, but who knows when she’ll eat again. May as well unwrap another one.

“I thought I could save you,” says the woman on the other end of the line. She sounds sad.

“So did I,” Helena says. “One of us could still be right.”

“How ‘bout you meet me,” says her voice, low and dangerous, “and we see which one of us it is?”

“Not yet,” Helena says regretfully. “Soon.”

“When?”

“That would ruin the surprise.” She pauses. Was that too mean? “I want to. I want to see you. But. Not yet.”

“I want to see you too.” Helena closes her eyes and pretends those words were kind, and not meant out of some disappointing urge to put a bullet in Helena’s chest. She lets herself have a future – just for a moment – where they’re friends, and they’re going to a movie or going to get lunch or whatever it is friends do. Helena will put so much butter on the popcorn that they share. Helena will open her mouth and say a name, like it’s easy, like she knew it the whole time.

But the future melts on her tongue and it’s gone, the way the things you eat always are. She opens her eyes again.

“Then we will see each other,” she says. Smiles at the phone, soft, fond. “Bye bye.”

* * *

Dial tone. Sarah stares at the phone, the way it’s shaking in her shaking hand. Then she throws it across the room and watches it explode in a shower of plastic and circuits. She pretends, for a moment, that it’s satisfying.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


End file.
